Black Plague
Black Plague is a story written by Ahpolki Inika for Vorred's writing contest . Story Prologue Time: Hours before Glonor's departure... A purple-and-brown Skakdi ran through the woods, his acid-green eyes fixed on the path ahead. He dared not look back, not after what became of his crew. As he continued his mad sprint, the Dark Hunter named Wythilv couldn’t help but wonder how this all happened. It was supposed to be a simple job: Go to some small island, grab some artifact, and return to their contract. It went smoothly at first, but then they ran into the locals. And apparently the “locals” were undead freaks, slashing anyone in their way. Just moments ago, one of them tore through his partner, Nixot. He didn’t know where “Tide” or Hjorlan went, but he didn’t care at this point. It was every being for himself. He didn’t see the tree in his way until it was too late. Slamming into it face first, the Skakdi cursed under his breath before he heard a deafening screech. He turned to see “Tide”, or rather, what was once him. The monster was once a member of an amphibious species, though Wythilv didn’t know the name of it. His one sharp, lime-green eyes were now empty, devoid of life. A black substance fused his hook-blades and arms into one, one of his feet mutated. The Skakdi drew out his weapon, an E2 (Elemental Energy) Shotgun , baring what looked like a Toa’s skull on the side. The survivor pulled the trigger, blowing off the legs. The thing came down, howling in an alien tone. He fired again, this time vaporizing the head. The thing flinched, and then dropped dead. The Dark Hunter sighed in relief. “Next time, stay dead!” He snarled. He rose back up and resumed his journey, this time walking silently. He didn’t want to alert more of the infected. Just a few miles ahead was a river that connected to the Silver Sea. Within that river was their ship. And right now, it was Wythilv’s only chance to escape this pit of Karzahni. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached his destination. With the forest of giants behind, he made a dash for the beach. When he was a hundred feet away, though, the ground gave way under him. The firearm slipped from his hand, falling not far from him. Before he could retrieve it, a burst of gunfire pasted him. He almost taunted them for their aim, only to turn and fall prey to horror. For it was not he that was the target, but rather his only weapon. With the gun destroyed, shadows fell upon him. He looked in dismay to see a mob of the fallen, each of a different species and culture. And to his horror, among them was the crawling, headless corpse of “Tide”. The blackened abomination leapt down, hooks over its shoulders. If it were possible, the land would’ve quaked as Wythilv’s final scream shattered the barriers of sound. Chapter 1 Hours later.... Kenod sighed, his head hanging down. Today the Bo-Matoran had rode through Karzahni and back. First, he had a run-in with the undead and got nicked across the shoulder. Second, he lost half of his goods to a bandit ambush and barely made it out alive. Finally, he has to escort some Ko-Matoran to an isolated village out in the middle of nowhere. Oh, and he won’t be getting paid for it either. Still, he could use a bodyguard or too, given recent events. Right now, both Matoran were riding on a carriage, pulled by an Ussal Crab. Not very sturdy for, say, another raid. Then again, that’s where the guns came in. The Ko-Matoran had a revolver, while Kenod had twin pistols. The Bo-Matoran frowned, looking at the map in his hands. Judging by the stains on it, it must’ve been old. VERY old, given that only the capital and only a few villages were shown. The ones they were going to weren’t even on the map at all. The only indicator that they existed were (recently added) dots on it. Other than that, nothing, not even a bloody name. The Bo-Matoran turned to his only passenger, a frown visible on his lime-green Miru. “You sure that these places even exist?” He inquired. His orange-red eyes were one met with the lime-green ones of the Ko-Matoran. What was his name again? Glonor? “To be honest, no,” Replied the Ko-Matoran. “Then again, nothing’s really gained by sticking to the road.” The lime-green and navy-blue Bo-Matoran shook his head. He didn’t like flying blind, especially during these times. As the journey went on, the sencery began to shange. The plains morphed into the infamous forest, home to the giants of the green. In fact, the entire forest seemed as if it were designed for something massive. Could this have been home to a massive Rahi? Perhaps a forgotten creation of the Great Spirit? Perhaps this place made by the Great Beings themselves? Nobody knew, and nobody wanted to know. At last, the duo reached their destination. It was a small viallge, its population no more than 20. Most were Matoran, though there was one Turaga and a Toa or two. Nearby was a swamp of sorts, its waters murky and riddled with disease. That, and many strange Rahi roam the bogs as well. The two Matoran came to an inn, dubbed'' “The Murky Fate”''. Once inside, they found it to be nearly empty, save for its innkeeper. He was a male Ga-Matoran, his hunchbacked body broader than his usual female counterparts. He bore a damaged Akaku Nuva, the telescopic lens covered in a web of cracks. Glonor suspected that this one must’ve gone through Karzahni… literally. He just finished cleaning a mug when he noticed them. “Now wut can I do for ya, stranguhs?” He asked as he sat the cloth and cup down, his voice raspy and dry. Kenod stepped forward. “What is this place?” The Ga-Matoran frowned. “Dis here’s Ythiakr, one of smallest villages on this island.” He pointed out a window, which revealed the swamp beyond. “It ain’t that popular with the swamp outside. Hardly anything worth hunting ‘round here, and many get sick after their first hour here. As you can see, it ain’t the perfect spot for a vacation.” Glonor put a hand on his chin. “''Ythiakr''? That’s not Matoran, is it?” The innkeeper shrugged. “No idea where the name came from. Maybe it’s Matoran, maybe it ain’t. Can’t say.” “How much for a room?” Asked Kenod. “Five widgets.” Said the Ga-Matoran. Both blinked at that remark. “Seriously?” Said the Ko-Matoran. The innkeeper nodded. “Like I said, not many folk come ‘round here.” The duo looked at one another. “We’ll take it.” Said the Bo-Matoran. The Ga-Matoran shook their hands as they handed him the payment. “Enjoy yawl’s stay….” He waited until both were out of hearing sight. “…while yawl still can.” He sighed, placing an elbow in the table. He rested his head on his hand, grumbling to himself. If he was paying attention, he would’ve seen strange lights flickering ever so slightly in the far reaches of the swamp. Meanwhile, somewhere on the other side of the swamp…. A group of undead were carrying a metal coffin of some form. Among them was a former Skakdi, his brown-and-purple armor now rusting away. Much of his body was covered in a tar-like substance, maneuvering him like a puppet. As they reached a dead end, the wall suddenly lifted upward, revealing tunnel. The horde carried the package down, eventually bringing it to their benefactor. He was hidden in a brown cloak, his face hidden by a black cloth. Still, it was obvious that he was ancient. He motioned the zombies toward some stacks of metallic coffins, and they sat it upon one. They bowed and bid him farewell, resuming their hunt for prey… and test subjects. Chapter 2 The cloaked figure stared at the coffins in a feral glance, fingers tapping in a rhythmic pattern. Behind him was his assistant, Iqwask. The little one was a Ta-Matoran, though he wore a deformed Kanohi. It didn’t bother him, though, since it wasn’t always his mask. Rather, it once belonged to a belated Mersion. The fool caused an explosion and was destroyed in the fires. Only the mask survived. May the poor old man rot in pieces. The being motioned him forward, the servant eagerly moving toward the coffin. Drawing out a crowbar, he slid it under the magnetized lid. With all the strength he could muster, he managed to pry it off. A cloud of dust exploded into a mushroom-like form, covering the chamber. When it cleared, the Ta-Matoran leapt back, in a mix of surprise and fear. Within the coffin was a pitch-black entity, one bearing the mark of the Brotherhood. Staring at them was the remains of a Makuta. The odd thing, though, was the lack of…. Well, anything. There was no organic tissue, no mechanical implants, not even the usual crystalline brain or eyes. After what might’ve been an eternity, the hooded one managed to choke out one word: “Impossible.” The figure motioned toward a vile, filled with the strange ooze. The Ta-Matoran complied and handed his master the tool. The doctor poured the essence into the armor, and waited a minute. Nothing happened. The tall one sighed. “Of course,” he cursed. “This body lacks organic tissue. “ His frown disappeared when he took a closer look at the body. Attached to the metallic skull was a Kanohi of someform. It was odd seeing this on a Makuta, but he wasn’t gonna argue. The mask he was gazing at was a Great Mask of Fusion. A twisted idea took root beneath that shadowed hood. Carefully removing the mask and donning it, the being walked over toward a group of the fallen. Among them was the thing once known as Wythilv. When he got close, the mask and group both began to glow. A faint cloud swallowed the trio as they were ripped apart, atom by atom. When the process ended, the zombies were no longer there. In their place was a being so revolting, even their maker would vomit at the sight. The creature bore a Skakdi’s skull as the head, though the lower jaw was missing. In its place was a mass of black tendrils, more in the eye sockets. The neck was long and bent in a way it shouldn’t be. A large, glowing bulge of sorts was growing beside the head. One arm was long and spider-like, ending in a mess of clawed fingers. The other was like that of a Spiny Stone Ape, ending in a sickening pile of jet-black tentacles. Within the mass was a ribcage shifted into the back, tearing it open. The virus had also changed it into a horizontal mouth of sorts, containing the rotting head of a Hau-bearer. The spine(s) became a cross between a tail and a tongue, ending with a face so strange and deformed that no being could describe it. One leg was spidery and bipedal, only that it ended with a spiked dome as a foot. The other was quadruped, a vile mix of iron and flesh. For a moment, Iqwask though he was going mad, but a quick glance at his master said otherwise. The creature gargled and growled, looking at the hooded one. The figure stepped forward with the grace of a shadow. “I’m off to conduct some business. You two will watch over the laboratory in my absence.” He said in a commanding tone. The two nodded, though the Matoran had an uneasy look on his Kanohi. Still, the tall one was his master. As such, he obeyed, though reluctantly. The hooded Necrologist moved to another chamber, filled with more coffins. This time, though, they numbered by the thousands. As he stood before them, memories flooded back to haunt him. He had already given up trying to forget. To forget was like facing a force of nature. No matter how often he tried, they always came back. Even when he erased his own memories, they came back. Despite the agony they caused him, they also gave him strength. They pushed to go where he was today. “Soon, kinsmen,” He whispered, bowing his head in their honor as he made his exit. He found his way out of the caverns and into a dimly lit chamber. Like any Shepard, he had some Rahi to tend to. Meanwhile, at the Murky Fate… Kenod was lying down on his bed, rolling around impatiently. He hadn’t been able to sleep since the raid. While most Matoran would use the opportunity to do so, the Bo-Matoran just couldn’t. He knew that danger would jump out when lest expected. To sleep would mean letting his guard down. To let his guard down would mean… well, it was obvious. Glonor sat in a bed ascent to his partner’, though he wasn’t as tense. Rather, he was fast asleep. Or at least, he would be were it not for the other’s paranoia. The Ko (well, Av)-Matoran turned to Kenod, his irritation painted on his mask. “You’re not on fire, you know.” He bluntly commented. Kenod stopped for a brief moment, his eyes nearly collapsing on themselves. “I might as well be with where we’re going.” He snarled. Judging from his tone, he hasn’t had any sleep for the past few days. “Look, if you’re that scared, we take turns dozing off,” Said Glonor. “One sleeps while the other watches his back.” The Bo-Matoran narrowed his eyes. “And how do I know that I won’t find a dagger in my throat?” He replied. “And why would I do that when you have nothing of value?” the Ko-Matoran responded. There was truth in his words, of course. They had nothing, save for food, water, and a map. Then again, maybe their guns and Kanohi might be considered “valuable” by some. But for the most part, they had nothing of worth. The Bo-Matoran was about to make another comment, but his body reached its limit before he do so. Suddenly, his head found itself on the straw pillow, his fiery orange eyes hidden from view. Glonor smirked, looking at a news tablet lying on the table next to his bed. “Sweet dreams, grouchy.” He muttered as he rested a hand behind his head, falling to sleep as well. He opened his eyes, finding himself in the hallway. Something was off, though. First, Kenod was missing. Second, two Matoran were hauling him across the floor. Finally, he was wearing blue-and-gold heavy armor. He caught a quick glance at the reflection in one of their cleavers, and its revelation shocked him. He was a Ce-Matoran, wearing a dark-blue Great Ruru. The world flashed in a blinding light, and he found him-''her-self strapped to an operating table. (S)He tried to move his-her- arms, but couldn’t even feel them. (S)He turned his head, a decision that (s)he would regret. (S)He screamed as (s)he found that both arms had been sawed off, shoulders included. He turned to see yet another surprise: the bartender, holding a bloody hatchet in his hand. (S)he creamed as he brought it down between his-''her''- eyes.'' Glonor woke in a sweat, gasping for air. He turned to see Kenod, snoring soundly. Glonor was about to sigh in relief, but another blinding light stole his vision. Down in the hall, two hooded figures crept slowly through the darkness. Both were around the size of a Matoran, each wielding a butcher’s cleaver. While he didn’t know who the left one was, he (somehow) knew that the one on the right was the bartender. As they drew closer, he could hear Kenod’s snoring. He realized something: This was happening right now. '' Frantically, he started shoving furniture in front of the door, including his own bed. Kenod was awaked by the noise and inquired on what was happening. He got his answer, though not from the Ko-Matoran. “Kill the outsider!” Snarled a croaking voice. A shot fired, blowing off the door’s handle. The two Matoran leapt out of the window, and into an angry mob. Early, the map had mentioned that the population was only 20. Apparently, it was seriously outdated. Around the duo were at least three times the villagers, all wielding some kind of bladed weapon. Glonor rammed his way out of the crowd, though Kenod didn’t have as much luck. The mob ripped him apart, piece by painful piece. He didn’t even get the chance to scream. Glonor dared not look, lest he want to lose his mind. He ran past a corner and ducked behind a wheeled vehicle. Once the swarm of feet passed by, he took a quick peep over the hood. Some of the villagers were wielding shotguns. Since when the Karzahni did they get 'those'? The Av-Matoran didn’t ponder on that, and instead sprinted toward a large structure. When he slipped inside, he was greeted with large shadow. His eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he could clearly see that this was a shrine to Mata-Nui. Yet something was off about this statue. He took a few quick glances, noting that the benches and seats were crudely made. As he further examined the statue, he noticed that one of the arms was made from a different material. At first glance, it would appear to be a crude attempt at repairing it. However, there was a chain button between the arm and shoulder. He pressed it, and the stone walls began to grind slowly, echoing in agony. A trapdoor, hidden behind a false wall, was revealed. Without a second thought, Glonor leapt into the darkness. As he hit the ground, another flash of white blinded him, and he fell to the cold floor. He lost conscience before he even hit the ground. ''He found himself sprinting across the forest, fleeing from an unseen force. His host never dared to look back, indicating a strong sense of fear. As he ran, something from above slithered their way around his limbs and hoisted him into the air. Tendrils of twisted metal and decaying flesh held him aloft, like a puppet on strings. He couldn’t see the thing through the trees’ branches, but was thankful that he never got the change to do so. What he wasn’t so thankful for, though, was being held up like some piñata. A figure stepped from behind another tree, and his heart leapt, attempting to escape its host’s body. Before him was a blackened Ko-Matoran, bearing a Kanohi Matatu. In his-''its- hand was a massive broadsword, fused to where the lower-arm once was.'' “Icax?! What’re you doing here!?” Glonor’s host pleaded as the former Matoran drew closer, weapon rising along the way. “Wait, what ''are ''you doing?” '' ''He didn’t respound. The host struggled against the tentacles. Glonor noted that the prisoner’s armor was forest-green and ash-grey. ”Listen pal, you ''DON’T ''want to do this!” The thing opened his mouth, but the voice that emerged was ''not a Matoran’s.'' “The master demands a sacrifice.” Gurgled the abomination. '' A sharp pain slashed across his throat, and he let out a bloodying scream. Glonor was shaken that his (host’s) head was severed from his body, flying into the air before the darkness took him. Then black turned to white, and white turned to color. He found himself unable to move. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything below the neck. He turned his head, an unwise choice. There, right next to him, was his headless body, strapped to an operating table. A tar-like substance was slithering in and out of some holes in the armor. The Matoran tried lifting a finger, and to his amazement (and fear), it twitched. He heard some footsteps, and turned to face a mirror. There, in its reflection, was the head of a Mahiki bearer, orange-red eyes slowly falling into madness. The mirror fell, revealing a hooded being drabbed in a yellow cloack. His entire face was covered in filthy bandages, stained in a sickening yellow.'' “Welcome back, Aliki. How was your sleep?” Laughed the being. The only response he got was an ear-shattering scream. The world flashed white again, and he found himself in even more darkness. After going through another nightmare like that, his body and mind couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t even lift a finger, let alone keep his eyelids from falling. He let the darkness tuck him in, shielding his mind from the horrors that lay outside of “reality”. Characters A number of Matoran *Glonor *Kenod, deceased *A male Ga-Matoran innkeeper *Lothorna (vision only, deceased) *Aliki (vision only, infected) *Icax (vision only, infected) *Iqwask, The Necrologist's assistant A group of Dark Hunters *Wythilv, infected and fused with two other Forgotten Warriors. *"Tide", infected. *Noxit (mentioned only), deceased. *Hjorlan (mentioned only), fate unknown. A number of Forgotten Warriors *An unseen entity with tentacles. *A massive fusion of three FWs, Wythilv among them. A Hooded "Nercologist" Trivia The name of the story is a refference to the PC horror videogame Penumbra: Black Plauge, as well as the real world event. This story was inspired by a couple of other horror games as well: Call of Cthulhu: Dark Courners of The Earth and Eternal Darkness: Sanity's Requiem. A small number of guest characters appear here as well. Lothorna by BobTheDoctor27, and Icax and Aliki by IDS. Category:Stories Category:User:Ahpolki Inika